Her
by whenfireanddarknesscollide
Summary: Draco turned to look at her. Narcissa felt her heart break a little bit more upon seeing the haunted look in her beloved son's gray eyes, which were once a beautiful bright silvery color but now had become dull with stress and emotion. Written for the QLFC Season 4, Round 6: Holyhead Harpies, Keeper.


Midnight found Draco nursing a large bottle of firewhisky, slumped on the couch and staring blankly into the undulating flames of the fireplace. The large, empty living room of the Manor was only lit by the soft glow of the fiery embers, throwing eerie shadows across the walls.

Taking another swig, the blond boy ran a tired hand through his already tousled hair, causing it to stick up in all different directions. It didn't help that he hadn't washed his hair in days.

Quiet footsteps came padding down the stairs, but Draco paid no attention, only kept staring at the yellow tongues of flame in front of him.

The slim figure of Narcissa Malfoy, dressed in a thin white nightgown, came up behind Draco and placed an elegant hand on the arm of the leather couch. "Draco, what are you doing?" she asked softly, trying not to startle her son. He had quite an unpredictable and violent temper, but Narcissa blamed the effects that the war had had on him. He had not been so hot-headed and his emotions so tumultuous before the return of the Dark Lord.

Draco turned to look at her. Narcissa felt her heart break a little bit more upon seeing the haunted look in her beloved son's gray eyes, which were once a beautiful bright silvery color but now had become dull with stress and emotion.

"Draco, honey, it's three in the morning. What are you doing?" Narcissa asked again.

"I couldn't sleep," Draco replied brusquely, turning his head away from his mother's concerned gaze and back to the dying embers of the fire.

Narcissa made her way around the couch to sit down gracefully next to her son. Tutting at the sight of a bottle of firewhisky in his hand, she tried to tug it from his grasp, but he refused to let go. Narcissa sighed. "Draco, you mustn't keep drinking."

"Father drinks," Draco retorted, gulping down more of the alcoholic drink.

"Your father doesn't drink as much as you," Narcissa said. "Besides, he's older than you and has a higher tolerance for alcohol. This isn't good for you, Draco."

"Why do you care?" the young man asked coldly.

"Because you're my son!" Narcissa said desperately. "You're my son and I want to help you. I can't stand to see you this way all the time, Draco!"

"See me what way?" Draco sneered.

"Like this!" Narcissa gestured in Draco's direction. "This! This sitting on the couch in the middle of the night, drinking excessive amounts of firewhisky. This isn't healthy, Draco!"

"So?"

Narcissa almost groaned in frustration at Draco's stubbornness. She had one last thing up her sleeve, but she didn't want to play that card because it would only bring up devastating memories.

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. "Draco, it doesn't help you just to be like this all the time. She wouldn't have wanted you to do this. She would have wanted you to do things, go out, live life. She wouldn't have wanted you to sit here and wallow in your own sadness. It would break her heart if she was here to see you right now."

Draco still stared ahead, but Narcissa could see his expression change the moment she mentioned _her_. Finally, after a long period of silence, Draco turned his head to look up at his mother.

"Why?" he asked, his voice hoarse and desperate. "Why would you bring her up again?" There were tears flowing freely down his porcelain cheeks. "Why?"

"Draco—" Narcissa began.

"Do you know how hard I've worked to forget about her?" Draco asked, his voice cracking. "Do you know how long I've tried to erase her from my memory?"

"Draco, honey, I know," Narcissa said soothingly, trying to placate her agitated son. "But you have to remember that she wouldn't have wanted this. She would have wanted you to be happy, and not destroy your body by drinking and not sleeping all the time."

Draco made no move to clear the tears still dripping from his eyes and down his face as he once again looked back up at his mother.

"Promise me you'll stop drinking," Narcissa said. "Promise both me and her that you'll stop drinking and pick your life back up."

After pondering his mother's words, Draco finally promised, "I'll stop drinking, just for _her_."

He turned away as he handed the bottle of firewhisky to his mother and curled up on the couch, sobbing.

Narcissa put the firewhisky back where it belonged and headed back up the stairs, leaving Draco alone.

The second that he sensed that Narcissa was out of earshot, Draco wiped his tears away and jumped up from the couch, stumbling forward and catching himself on a side table. He paused a moment, waiting for the spinning to stop as his head tried to catch up to the sudden movement of his body before heading in the direction of the liquor cabinet, fumbling a little as he retrieved the bottle offirewhisky that Narcissa had put away. He struggled to throw on his coat with clumsy fingers, heading out the door, bottle in hand.

* * *

The sound of apparition rang through the air as Draco materialized on a secluded, quiet Muggle street. He winced a little as he felt a slight sting in his left hand and discovered that he had splinched a nail.

The road was only illuminated by the streetlamps, Draco remembered fondly, that's what they were called. Then he cringed. _She_ had been the one who told him what streetlamps were.

Banishing the unwelcome thoughts from his brain, he hurried a bit faster down the deserted road, heading toward the turn in the road where the cemetery was located.

Draco stopped in front of the large, dark metal gates that barred his entrance. _"Alohomora,"_ he whispered, and the padlock tying the gates sprung open and the chains fell to the ground with a clanking rattle.

A sense of deep dread settled on Draco's shoulders as he stepped into the cemetery. Feeling deeply uneasy, he lit his wand with a muttered _"Lumos"_ and continued forward. He'd been here before but never had he felt so on edge.

The full moon hung high in the sky, throwing the graveyard into an eerie and haunted light. Speeding up once again, Draco made a turn and a few steps later, he found himself staring at _her_ tombstone. Standing there and looking at her grave, and the meticulous lettering which shone in the moonlight, a fresh wave of anguish swept over him. Falling to his knees on the grass, he bowed his head and waved his wand to conjure up a stunning bouquet consisting of dark blue night lilies and deep purple four o' clocks, her favorite flowers.

He extended his hand to place the flowers in the cone vase, but as he did so, he felt a small prick and quickly retracted his hand to discover blood welling on his finger. Draco made to perform a simple healing charm, but before he could do so, a drop of crimson blood slipped from his finger and fell onto the gravestone.

Hurriedly, Draco cast the spell and ignored the itchy feeling as his finger healed; instead, he made to clean up the blood he had spilled. However, when he looked back down, the blood was gone, leaving not so much as a stain on the stone.

Blinking in confusion, Draco decided to ignore the strange phenomenon and instead tried to locate where he cut his finger on the tombstone. To his utter bewilderment, the stone was completely smooth with no place he could have possibly cut himself on accident.

Shaking his head to clear his head, Draco did the one thing he went to do. Bowing down over the headstone once again, he whispered, "I haven't been coping well since the war and your...death." Draco paused to regain control over his emotions. "I've been drinking a lot, and Mother brought up that you wouldn't like me doing that. I promise to you, that I will stop drinking; anything for my beloved."

Draco stayed in the kneeling position for a while, until he blew a sad kiss toward the grave and stood up, wincing at the pins and needles feeling as he unfolded his legs.

As he left the graveyard and apparated back home, he just couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched.

* * *

The next morning was a new day, and Draco slowly cracked his eyes open, wincing against the stray beams of light filtering through the cracks in the heavy drapes that covered the windows. His muscles were cramped from spending the night on the couch, and he was still dressed in his jacket, feeling tired, grimy, and not at all refreshed. His mouth was dry and his head hurt like hell from the hangover he'd received from last night's drinking.

He weakly called a house elf and asked for a hangover potion, which the elf promptly returned with. Draco quickly downed the vibrantly blue liquid in one go, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste.

He stretched and groaned, feeling his bones creak as he rose from the uncomfortable position he had been sleeping in.

He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, for some time until he heard the unmistakable sounds of his mother coming down the stairs. He looked up as his mother swept around the corner of the stairs and along the back of the couch, heading in the direction of the smaller tea room to the right.

"Good morning, Draco," Narcissa replied, taking in her son's disheveled and utterly exhausted appearance with an appraising eye. She glanced toward the shelf where the bottle of Firewhisky was supposed to be and found it empty, but her expression didn't change; she only continued walking.

"Good morning, Mother," Draco said, his voice a bit raspy. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he saw his mother glance toward the empty shelf. He had finished the bottle sometime last night on his little excursion and tossed it, but he had vowed not to drink and would abide by his promise to his beloved.

* * *

Draco sat on the armchair by the fire, shocked beyond comprehensive thought. A letter had just arrived, by owl, to inform him that his father's trial had gone wrong and he had been sentenced to Azkaban for ten years.

Draco had been waiting for news all day, anxious to discover the results of his father's trial, but he had never imagined that he would not hear the crack of his father's apparition and see him walk the halls of the Manor, snake-head cane in hand.

Sinking into the chair in despair, Draco leaned back to rest his head on the top of the chair and put his hands over his face, blocking out light from the chandelier and the fireplace. He knew that his mother had probably also received the notice, and he also knew that she would take it much harder than he.

During the war, Lucius had not treated Draco as well as he had before and performed some actions that Draco just couldn't forgive. However, he was still his father and his blood, and Draco was devastated to see him banished to the wizarding prison.

Standing up, Draco automatically headed toward the liquor cabinet, opening the tall glass-paned doors and reaching for a strong bottle of liquor.

Just as he was opening the bottle, a thought came to the forefront of his mind and he halted his autonomous movements. He had pledged to stop drinking and therefore he was going to abide by his promise to his true love.

Setting the bottle gently back into the cabinet, Draco instead called for a glass of chilled sparkling water with a kick. A house elf appeared with the requested drink and vanished immediately after.

Picking up the tall glass from the marble tabletop, Draco took a seat at the island and perched on one of the bar stools, trying to drink his stresses away with just sparkling water, itching for a drink.

* * *

Draco threw down the piece of parchment in utter frustration, and in a bout of complete and unrestrained rage, picked up his wand and set the paper on fire. Flames licked at the paper and slowly spread onto his desk, charring the deep mahogany wood.

Suddenly coming to his senses, Draco extinguished the flames and repaired his desk with a flick of his wand.

Sighing, he stood up to walk to the small cabinet in the corner where he kept his liquor. However, upon opening the wooden doors, he frowned when all he was met with were empty shelves. He had forgotten that he had emptied out all the liquor in his house the other day as a method to encourage his routine to not drink.

Calling a house elf, Draco asked for a drink only to be denied. He remembered that on that fated day when he threw out all the liquor he also instructed the house elves not to give him a hard drink even if he asked for it.

Groaning in frustration, Draco had no choice but to continue working.

* * *

Draco was on a night out with his friends, and they sat at a large round table. Blaise stood up, asking if anyone wanted anything to drink.

"I'll have one, please," Daphne said to her husband. Pansy, seated next to her, grimaced in annoyance as she asked for a non-alcoholic beverage, as she was pregnant with Theo's child.

When it was Draco's turn, he also requested a non-alcoholic drink.

Blaise looked at him strangely. "What?"

Draco repeated himself. "Non-alcoholic, please."

"Non-alcoholic?" Blaise asked, his voice rising in incredulation. "For you?"

"Yes, thank you," Draco replied lightly, trying to sound nonchalant. "I've stopped drinking."

Blaise raised his eyebrows, but only said, "Good for you."

After taking the orders from their small group, Blaise set off to get drinks as the old friends talked.

* * *

Draco lay on his bed, unable to fall asleep. He knew that if he did, the nightmares would haunt him all night long.

Ever since he'd gone to the graveyard that night, he had felt as if he was being watched all the time. He felt uneasy and more wary of his surroundings.

He would see the scene of her death replayed over and over again like a memory in a pensive; he would hear himself scream and nearly fly over only to be too late to throw his body in front of hers. He would watch as the jet of green light hit her square in the chest and she would fall back as he caught her and shielded them with a protective magical field in the shape of a dome. He had bent over her lifeless form and, with continuous tears flowing down his face, beg her to come back to him. She never did.

Draco woke with a start, drenched in a cold sweat and his own salty tears.

* * *

He thought he was going crazy. Seeing things, feeling like he was being watched, and not being able to drink.

And then she saw her. Floating in the doorway to his room, the silvery figure looked at him with a familiarity that he could never forget. He knew the way she walked, the way her posture was always just a tad slouched, barely enough to be noticeable. He knew and loved her endearing smile and her charming laugh. He knew her by heart.

She was his beloved. And she had come back to him.

"Hermione."

* * *

A/N - Quidditch League Fanfiction Contest

Season 4, Round 6, Deadly Sins & Heavenly Virtues

Holyhead Harpies, Keeper

Prompt: Write about a dark character demonstrating the virtue of temperance.

Word Count (Google Docs/Pages): 2,626

Special thanks to my amazing betas, Ann (A Random Bowser) and Buttercat (Slytherin Buttercat)!


End file.
